


Blondes Have (a lot less) Fun

by eleutheria_has_won



Category: The Underland Chronicles - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Gen, Species Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:31:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleutheria_has_won/pseuds/eleutheria_has_won
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Gregor thought bitterly as he pressed back into the dark crevice, white fur really was a pain in the ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blondes Have (a lot less) Fun

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J6iTWaKoZ5U
> 
> Based on this post by crowtrolls:  
> "AU where Gregor is the Bane and grows up trying to defy the prophecies and write his own destiny while trying to avoiding the Warrior, who is an orphan named Peter. Ares is exiled and branded a traitor after supporting his bond, Henry, who is killed while the pair flees from Regalia. Ares and Gregor run into each other and after extended periods of extreme distrust, become good friends and eventual bonds.
> 
> Boots is Gregor’s youngest sister that he rescues after going back to his home and finding his mother sick with the plague and his father missing, while Lizzie is a nervous spider who joins the ragtag band later on.
> 
> This is all I have thus far but I need this AU"

Sometimes, Gregor thought bitterly as he pressed back into the dark crevice, white fur really was a pain in the ass. Especially when the only people who really operated by sight - and thus the only people who could more easily spot him based on color alone - in the entire Underland were also the ones who most wanted him dead.

Oh, yes, he thought sourly. This was going to go great.

It took what felt like hours, but before too long, Gregor could hear the flier-killer patrol that he'd heard swooping through the tunnel overhead. The light of their torches passed over him - sweeping over his fur briefly, he winced, but there was no shout of discovery - and moved on. Slowly, the sounds of the fliers’ wings faded into the distance.

It took another dozen heartbeats before Gregor relaxed and slumped against the damp rock with a dismayed groan. He was desperately not looking forward to Twitch’s bitching when his fur brought back the rank, overpowering stench of Regalia - rank and overpowering according to her, at least. Only a scent-seer would be able to tell he’d gotten within an hour of Regalia’s walls in foraging for food, but a scent-seer she was, and so Gregor was screwed. 

Grumbling to himself, the white rat - three years old, a teenager in gnawer terms, and already almost two tons, three times the size of most adults, with fur as pure white as the snow he’d never seen, none of which really helped him when it came to hiding -  peeled himself out of the crevice and trotted off down the empty tunnel in the direction of the Dead Lands, flicking his well-scarred tail in irritation.

It took another hour to get back to the deceptively slick-looking ledge that served Gregor and his amorphous, squabbling troop as a front porch. Huffing and growling to himself, still in a foul mood, Gregor settled his claws into the carefully concealed notches and pulled himself up into the cave.

“Lo and behold,” a male voice drawled from the back shadows. “Our  _hero_  returns." 

"Put a rock in it, Ripred,” Gregor groaned, shooting the bescarred grey rat a look. From what he could see, the cave was far emptier than he had expected it to be. Mrs. Cormaci, the eccentric old bat who’d left Regalia to “explore the Underland” in her youth, was hanging in the back corner next to a silvery mound of fur that snored like Twitchtip, both of them napping. (Not for long, he could already see her snout starting to twitch.)

“Ge-go!” a tiny grey blur chirped, launching itself at him. 

Gregor never ceased to find it bizarre how Boots - his tiny pup of a sister, barely a few months old, and not even the size of a human - was still capable of knocking him off-balance. “Hey, Boots. Where’s Liz and Ares?" 

"We are here,” Ares said from the mouth of the cave, crawling inside with Lizzie, a pale blue spinner, perched on his back. “We ran into a patrol which had ventured outside of its usual route. It was merely bad luck that one of them knew me for a traitor. It took some time throwing them off.”

“Oh, man, are you okay?” Gregor said anxiously. If his stupidity had gotten them hurt… Ares shook his head and crouched to let Lizzie scuttle off his back, which she did with a spinner’s rattling sigh of utter relief.

“We are fine,” Ares assured him. Gregor nosed at the bat's fur to be sure and, once he was sure the large black bat truly was alright, touched noses with his erstwhile bond with a relieved smile.

“Good,” said Gregor, sighing with relief. And not a moment too soon.

“Gregor,” came a suspicious grumble from the back of the cave, “why do you smell like stinking killers?” Gregor grimaced.

“Oh, here we go,” he muttered.


End file.
